


Beginnings

by snowpuppies



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the monsters are gone, Xander goes home. He finds someone unexpected. Compliant with 'Angel: AtF' through #9 and 'Fray'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those who aren't comic readers, 'Fray' implies that Buffy &amp; Co. do a spell that banishes all demons, but has the side effect of banishing all the Slayers (and I assume magic-users and magic, itself) as well. This piece is set post-spell.
> 
> Beta'd by [Kitty Poker](http://kitty-poker1.livejournal.com/).

After everything, he returned.

He wasn't even sure what he was doing in Sunnydale—or rather, the site of the former Sunnydale—but somehow, it called him home.

It was where he'd met Anya. And Giles. And Buffy and Dawn…

…and Willow.

Sweet, brave Willow, who grew to be more an extension of himself than a separate person.

In a way, they all had.

And now they were gone.

 

He felt like parts of him had been ripped away, leaving just a floating head—although that wasn't right. If anyone had been his brain over the years, it was Willow, so he was more like a floating spleen or something: useless and decaying without its body.

And so he came back to the beginning.

 

It wasn't much to look at; apparently, rebuilding Sunnydale was at the top of no-one's list. The debris had been cleared away, but the crater was still there, a hole in the world where the monsters used to be.

Except there were no monsters, any more...

No Slayers or Witches or Vampires…

 

It was all so…_normal_.

 

Funny, how he felt so out of place.

 

He really didn't know what he was doing there.

It was just a hole in the ground.

They weren't coming back, weren't just under those rocks over there, waiting to pop out with a 'Gotcha!' and a smile.

But now that he looked, there _was_ someone there.

He jogged closer.

"Hey."

The guy turned, calling his name, and Xander stopped in his tracks.

"How?"

"A prophecy. Save the world a few dozen times, you get a pulse."

Floored, Xander slid onto the rock. "So you're…"

"Human." Closing his eyes, Angel laughed.

It wasn't a happy sound.

"We were sucked into hell, the whole city. We fought hordes of demons, barely scraping through by the skin of our teeth, and then…we found our way home."

Xander stared at Angel's profile, waiting for the familiar hatred to take hold.

He couldn't find it.

Instead, he thought about how much Angel meant to Buffy, how she'd fought to save him and his chance for redemption, and he couldn't find it in himself to resent it, not now.

"So where's the crew?"

A strange sound came from Angel's chest. If Xander didn't know better, he'd think it a sob.

"Gone. We found our way home, finally, and then the sky opened and sucked them all back in." He glanced over at Xander with red, watery eyes. "I tried to follow, but the portal closed and…"

"…everyone was gone." Xander nodded.

He slid a bit closer, until he could feel the heat of Angel's body against his own.

Together, they watched as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

Finally, the silence was disturbed by a rumble.

Xander glanced at Angel, who was blushing.

"I think I'm hungry."

Xander thought a moment. "You up for pizza?"

"I could go for pizza."

Smiling softly, Xander nudged Angel's shoulder.

"Let's go."

Giving the crater one last glance, Angel nodded.

"Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander and Angel begin to move on.

They found a temporary stop point in San Francisco.

Sunnydale was…no more, and L.A. was too close to home, for both of them, so…San Fran it was.

Sunny, shiny…really _gay_ San Francisco.

Oh, he knew going in there was a large gathering of the gay in the city, and he was totally non-wigged by the gayness—Willow and Tara had often featured in his dreams in not-so-innocent positions—but he hadn't expected himself to be so…_affected_.

There were men, manly men, with their broad shoulders and tight asses—that were totally completely visible under pants that made his balls cringe and say 'Ow!'—and there was kissing and hand-holding, and sometimes making out in public, and Xander Jr. was making himself known in a way that made Xander glad for pants of the non-constricting type.

Of course, the place had grown on him when, while looking for 2-bedroom apartments that had decent month-to-month rent and a cockroach population that was just this side of 'scary', one of San Francisco's finest pinched Angel's backside when passing them on the sidewalk.

Angel blushed nine shades of red.

Angel…blushing…it boggled the mind.

And something else, come to think of it.

And that, more than anything else, was a pretty good indicator that he needed to get out, so as soon as they located a decent apartment, he was up and out and got a job.

While Angel sat at the apartment and…brooded.

And sometimes he read weird books with foreign titles that Xander couldn't hope to pronounce; plus, they made him think of Giles telling him not to read Latin to his magic tomes and the memory ached, a dull throbbing in his stomach.

It did make him think, though.

"You should go to college."

"College?" Angel's face screwed up in a grimace. "Nah, I…I can't."

"Look, I'm not a smart guy, but I know that anyone who can read"—he snatched the book from Angel's grasp and glanced at the cover—"something by a guy whose name is probably in a different language that I won't even begin to try to mangle, is smart enough for college."

"Xander, I just…"

"You just want to sit here and wallow. I know. I could use some wallowing, myself, but…"

Angel sighed, drowning out the _thwump_ of the book as it fell to the sofa. "But they wouldn't want us to."

"Actually, I was going to say that you needed to start your life, although you're right about that, too." Moving the book, he settled onto the sofa next to Angel. "You've got a second chance. Everything…_before_, it's just the past. It's important, but you can't let it be your life."

"It feels wrong, starting a life without…"

"Yeah, I know." Glancing over at Angel's faraway look, Xander bumped his shoulder. "She'd want you to go."

Angel was silent for a moment.

"Yeah, she would."

The quiet was companionable, and Angel was warm against his side.

"So, college?"

Slowly, Angel nodded. "Yeah, I think…college."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel picks a college. Xander gets a hobby.

Angel picked a college in Texas, of all places.

It was very sunny. And extremely warm. And rainy and stormy and pretty much every kind of not-fun weather that could be had.

But—at least according to Angel—they had a good Art History program, so Xander dealt with the sweat and the humidity and the soggy shoes, because people pretty much built things everywhere.

Funny, that.

Plus, Angel discovered a fondness for Tex-Mex, and Xander really had to hand it to a guy who could handle that much chili.

So, while Angel went to classes, Xander built houses and shopping malls.

And some evenings, if Angel had to spend some time in the library, Xander would lose himself in the wood.

With easy, even strokes, he'd whittle away at a block of oak or mahogany or maple or pine, watching the rough texture turn smooth, the smell of sawdust in his nostrils and the subtle feel of the grain against his palms…

He would spend hours focused on one small piece, slowly transforming something plain into something beautiful.

It reminded him a bit of growing up, watching Willow-Dawn-Buffy mature into strong, capable, amazing young women.

Sometimes, he thought that if they had a fireplace, he'd burn every piece he'd ever done.

Caught up in the memories, he missed Angel's entrance.

"These are amazing."

Startled, Xander gasped, and the block of wood that was turning into a duck—or maybe a dog—slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor.

Naturally, the one time he decided to bring his whittling out into the living room, Angel would get home early.

"Uh. Thanks. I…uh…it's soothing."

He watched, body quivering with tension, as Angel's fingertips grazed the pieces.

"You've got a good eye."

Fingering the patch, Xander snorted.

"Oh, God. I didn't…I mean, I didn't mean anything by it…."

Angel's backpedaling was too much, and Xander began to chuckle.

Crossing his arms, Angel leaned against the wall. "It's just…they're good, that's all."

"I knew what you meant."

"Oh."

Nodding, Angel continued his perusal.

Xander took the opportunity to retrieve the duck-dog from the floor.

"I still carry one of these. Can't seem to break the habit."

Xander turned; Angel was fingering a stake, tracing the elaborate network of vines and delicate blossoms as they crawled across the mahogany.

"It was _hers_. I made it before the spell—something special to use on her last slay." He stood, crossing the rug and taking the stake. He remembered the look on Buffy's face when he'd presented it to her; she'd promised to keep it forever. "I found it on the ground…after."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah."

After a moment of silence, Angel's warm, square hand gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Don't let me disturb you." Picking up a book, Angel crossed the room and settled into a chair to read.

Setting the stake aside, Xander returned to his seat and began to carve again.

Glancing up, he saw Angel's tongue flicking against his fingertips so he could turn the pages.

Shifting in his seat, Xander looked at the carving again.

He was pretty sure it was a dog.

 

_Maybe_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander senses a conspiracy.

They adopted a cat.

Or it adopted them.

Hard to tell with cats.

It was orange and white, with a big puffy tail it liked to rub against Xander's calves at random and make him yell—in a manly fashion—and leave the room.

It was clear that Angel and the cat were conspiring against him.

He would come home in the evenings to the sight of Angel, curled up on the sofa, watching Food Network, and the cat, curled up in Angel's lap. During commercials, Angel—the cat whisperer—would scratch along the cat's back and behind its ears. The cat purred and dug its claws into Angel's thigh.

Clearly, there was something going on.

One afternoon, when work had been cancelled by a sudden and random torrential downpour, he found Angel in the kitchen, bent over a large pot and wearing a frilly apron.

The cat was on the cabinet, watching Angel's movements intently.

Leaning against the door frame, he watched as Angel pulled a spoon from the pot and took a small sip.

"Mmm. Here, what do you think?" Angel held the spoon out to the cat, who delicately licked up the rest of the mystery dish. "Need more chili powder?"

The cat licked its nose.

Straightening up, Xander entered the kitchen, his wet shoes squeaking against the linoleum. "Uh, not to butt into your…_bonding_ experience, or whatever, but should the cat really be sitting there? He might get cat hair in the…" leaning over Angel's shoulder, he identified the substance—chili, he should have known, "…chili."

Angel gave him a push. "Don't get too close, you might get Xander hair in the chili."

Xander blinked. "Ok…touché, but at least mine's clean. Mostly."

Angel nodded towards the cat. "He gave himself a bath just an hour ago."

"Yeah, with his _tongue_."

Angel's brow furrowed in that familiar caveman look he'd always sported when he was lurking after Buffy. Xander wanted to punch it off. Or maybe lick it. No, punch it.

Right.

"You're just jealous because you can't lick your own balls."

"Lick my balls? What…he licks his own balls?"

"Yeah." Angel gazed at the cat. "Kinda wish I could do that, you know?"

"Well," Xander crossed his arms, "it does sound kinda…fun, in a kinky sort of way."

"Yeah."

The cat, unimpressed with their stares, twitched its fuzzy tail against the countertop.

Angel shook himself out of his stupor and turned back to the chili.

Xander caught his hand just before he stuck the spoon into the pot. "He licks his own balls and you're going to put that back in?"

Angel glanced at the spoon. "Oh. Well, Mr. Hairball's not poisonous."

"Mr. Hairball?" Xander looked at the cat—Mr. Hairball—who stared back with creepy yellow eyes.

"Yeah. He helped me taste test the stew you liked so much last week."

"He…did?"

"Yeah. He's got good taste."

"It _was_ good stew."

"Yup."

Xander watched as Angel tested another mouthful of chili, spilling a bit on his cheek.

"You've got…" Reaching out, Xander wiped the chili from Angel's cheek and popped his finger into his mouth.

He blinked.

Angel was staring at his finger.

"Uh…I didn't just do that."

"You didn't?" Angel blinked.

"Uh. No?"

"Oh. Ok. You didn't." Angel turned to stir the chili, glancing over his shoulder at Xander, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Uh, good chili," Xander mumbled before he fled to the living room and plopped onto the couch, wincing as his cold, wet clothes plastered themselves against his back.

He wasn't sure what that was all about.

Staring at the ceiling, he nearly jumped when something landed in his lap.

It was Mr. Hairball.

After a few tense moments of staring, Mr. Hairball meowed and looked away.

Then he started his bath.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander gets an art lesson.

Angel slowly decorated the apartment.

He hung prints—which were as close to originals as could be had for those on a college budget—on the walls, which were done in an unattractive fake pine paneling with a quick repeating grain that drove Xander batty.

At least when Angel brought work home, it was pretty.

He studied the newest print.

"Angel, I know I'm no artist, but this one's kinda a mess."

Angel came from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

"That's because you're too close."

Warm hands gripped his waist and pulled him back several feet.

"It's Guillaumin."

"Gesundheit."

Angel smiled. "He was an Impressionist. See, you've got to back away, look at the big picture."

Angel's breath was warm against his neck.

"Don't focus on the details, but see the painting as a whole."

"Oh." All Xander could focus on was Angel's pinky, which had slipped between his rucked-up tee and his jeans and was pressed against the skin of his waist.

"Like the guy who cut off his ear."

Angel chuckled and hot puffs of air tickled the back of Xander's neck.

"Van Gogh. Technically, he's considered Post-Impressionist, but…yeah, kinda like that."

"Huh."

The finger was moving ever so slightly, back and forth, and Xander felt himself lean ever so slightly into Angel's body.

Turning his head, he found dark eyes fixated on his face.

"Angel?"

Angel swallowed; Xander watched his Adam's apple bob in fascination. "Yeah?"

"I—"

"Hey. You…remember that thing you didn't do?"

Angel smelled like paint and cinnamon, and some small part of Xander jumped up and waved at the idea of streusel, but the rest of him was fixated on Angel's lips, which were slowly moving closer.

"I didn't?"

"Yeah, that thing."

"Oh. The thing."

"Yeah. I'm…I'm not gonna do this."

And before Xander could blink, Angel's hands were on his face, long, square fingers curling around his jaw, and lips—Angel lips—were brushing against his mouth, once…twice…

…and it was just lips, but they were warm and a little chapped and he was beginning to feel lightheaded, and then Angel pulled away and as he blinked away the haze, he remembered…

"I…I think something's burning in the kitchen."

"Shit." Pulling away, Angel ran to rescue dinner.

Xander stumbled to the couch and slumped against the arm.

His side was tingling.

So were his lips.

"Yeah, 'shit' pretty much covers it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Xander swims in the Nile, Angel comes home with a surprising surprise.

They didn't talk about that thing they didn't do.

Which was fine with Xander, since he wasn't quite sure what to make of what they hadn't done, anyways.

He was attracted to men, sometimes. Ok, he could handle that.

Memories of Anya and Buffy and Willow and Cordelia had gone the way of tears instead of hard-ons, and thoughts of Faith made his balls shrivel up, and every woman he saw reminded him of the curve of Buffy's neck, or Cordy's lips, or Anya's legs or Willow's toes…

It was unsurprising that his eye—and Xander Jr.'s, for that matter—was drifting towards those of the male persuasion.

It was the fact that it was _Angel_—bane of his existence, evil vampire extraordinaire who had tortured Giles and killed Ms. Calendar and Willow's fish and made Buffy cry more times than French 101—that he was drawn to. It was the fact that…

…none of that mattered anymore.

And that, more than anything, mattered the most.

So they didn't talk about it.

But Xander thought about it every. Single. Day.

One afternoon, he was staring at the TV while the Mythbusters blew things up—and paying it no attention, since he was thinking of 'that thing'—Angel came home with a surprise.

"Well, what do you think?" Angel asked, strolling into the room.

In a cowboy hat.

And boots.

And a faded red t-shirt that clung to Angel's chest until the Angel nipples—nipples of Angel!—could be seen.

"Uhm. Did you do that on purpose?"

"Hey. We're in Texas, now. I'm local." Angel's grin was utterly silly and Xander cracked a smile.

He continued in his study, right down to the huge gold belt buckle and to the crotch of Angel's jeans, which was very…snug.

When Angel turned a circle, Xander could see that they were snug all over.

Xander Jr. liked, muchly.

He grabbed a pillow and put it over his lap.

"It's, uh…great."

"You think?" Brow furrowed, Angel looked down at his torso. "It's not too much?"

"I think it's a good thing we're not in San Francisco any more."

Angel's eyes widened. "Yeah, _that_ was embarrassing."

"They'd all be campaigning to save the horse, if they saw you in that."

"Since when are horses endangered?"

"Since never, but they'd all volunteer to ride a cowboy, instead."

"Wha—" Plucking his hat from his head, Angel held it over his groin and crossed the other arm over his chest.

It actually drew more attention to his nipples—nipples of Angel!

"Well, what about you, with your sweaty construction thing?"

"Nah. They wouldn't be interested. It's the eye-patch. Pirates were _so_ last season." He paused, brow furrowed. "Unless you're Johnny Depp."

"Johnny Depp?" Angel asked, blankly.

"You know, Captain Jack Sparrow? Pirates of the Caribbean?"

Angel blinked. "Is that, like, a band?"

Xander stared. "There are no words. None at all."

"Is that bad?" The sofa bounced as Angel plopped next to Xander, _still_ wearing the cowboy getup. The jeans wrinkled in an appealing way at the bend in his hips.

"Horrifying beyond belief. First thing this weekend, we're going to Blockbuster. No, I'll go Friday after work."

"Um…Ok. I guess."

"Clear your calendar. I thought you were getting an education at that fancy college, but apparently I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

Angel shifted, nervously.

"Don't worry. It won't be painful."

"Alright, then. My life is in your hands."

"Good."

They stared at the screen a few minutes before Angel renewed their earlier thread of conversation. "Is it _that_ big a deal?"

"What?"

"The, uh…," Angel gestured to Xander's face, "…patch."

Xander sighed; he thought he's successfully dodged that particular inquiry.

"Well, they're hardly beating down the door, are they?" Looking away, Xander changed the channel; Angel was immediately drawn in when Paula Dean added two sticks of butter to a bowl.

After a moment, he turned to Xander. "I…don't even really notice it, anymore."

"You don't?"

"Only when you bring it up."

"Oh."

Angel turned to sit sideways, facing Xander. "It shouldn't matter. It _won't_ matter…when it's the right person."

Xander continued to stare at the television.

After a few minutes, Angel turned back towards the screen as well, his hand slipping over to rest on Xander's knee.

 

It was warm through his jeans.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel gets educated.

They were both suitably numb of the brain and the bottom when they got up to make popcorn between movies.

"Sparrow and Turner are _so_ having the wild monkey sex," Xander commented as he watched the bag turn in the microwave.

"Really? I thought Turner was with that Elizabeth girl."

"Yeah. I think she's his beard—and doesn't that sound itchy? Either that or they're all doing the horizontal jive in a great big pirate orgy."

"Oh."

The microwave beeped and Xander removed the bag, cursing quietly as he burned his fingers.

"Here, give me that."

He surrendered the bag to Angel's grip, sucking his burnt finger while Angel opened it.

"They're all the rage on the open sea," Xander continued as he pulled two cans of soda from the fridge.

"Kettle corn?" Angel asked, brow furrowed.

"Orgies."

"Oh. Right."

Flipping off the kitchen lights, he followed Angel into the living room and sat down on the sofa. "I mean, what else are you gonna do, stuck out there with a bunch of men and _one_ woman? And Elizabeth doesn't strike me as the type to let them all have a bit of the womanly love, if you catch my drift."

"I guess."

"There's just obvious sexual tension between the two, is all I'm saying."

Angel shifted, rearranging the popcorn bowl in his lap.

Xander coughed to disguise his grin. "You ready to start the last one?"

"Yeah. Whenever you are."

"Alright." Taking a handful of popcorn, Xander pushed Play.

 

When the film was over, Angel stood and stretched.

"You up for more?" Xander asked from his perch on the sofa.

"Nah. I've got a paper due on Monday, so I should start writing."

"Alright. We'll save _The Lord of the Rings_ for next weekend. I got the extended editions, so it'll take a full day on its own."

"Sounds...great." Angel retrieved his bag and settled into his 'homework chair'.

Xander stretched out on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, trying to pick out shapes and faces in the popcorn texture. He had just noticed what looked like a frog eating a rock, or a small SUV, when an awful yowling noise came from the back yard.

Groaning, he sat up. "I'll get it."

Scowling, he stomped to the back door where Mr. Hairball was fussing to be let in.

"Stupid, ungrateful cat," he muttered as he opened the door.

Mr. Hairball passed him by and trotted off to find Angel, plumed tail bobbing with each step.

"I buy your kibble, you know."

Xander sighed; he _so_ didn't get cats.

On his way to resume his popcorn-ceiling watching, he glanced over at Angel, who was furiously scribbling in a spiral notebook.

"You know, I'm non-college guy, but I thought you had to type that sort of thing."

Angel looked up then glanced at his pencil. "Yeah. The movies took longer than I thought and the library's closed, so…I'll write it out and type it up later."

"Ah."

Xander stared at the ceiling a bit longer.

Willow's face scowled at him from the plaster.

Rubbing his face, he stood and went into the bedroom. Opening the closet, he knelt in front of a trunk in the floor and opened it.

It was time.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

And pulled Willow's laptop from the trunk.

 

Trekking back into the living room, he handed the computer to Angel.

Angel took it, looking puzzled. "What's this?"

"A laptop." Xander looked down at his hands. "It was Willow's."

Angel extended the computer back to him. "Xander, I can't use this."

"No." He sat down on the arm of the chair. "No. I want you to use it. It's just been sitting in my closet for months, and it needs to be used. Willow would want you to use it for college."

"Xander—"

"Besides, if you don't take it, she'll keep giving me disappointed-face from the ceiling."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Just…use it, okay?"

Angel balanced the laptop on his thighs. "If you're sure…?"

"Absolutely."

Angel glanced at the computer dubiously. "Uh, Xander?"

"Oh." Xander unfolded the laptop and turned it on. "This is the power button, here, and I've got a power cord thingy for when the battery runs out."

"Uhm. Ok."

"As far as I know, it should operate just like the computers on campus."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Xander stood and crossed the room to reclaim his spot on the sofa from Mr. Hairball, who mewled in protest, then stalked off, tail swishing in irritation.

Xander smiled, settling into the cushions in triumph.

"Oh!" His smile stretched into a grin. "You have to let me know if you find any girl-on-girl porn on the hard drive."

Angel's eyes narrowed as he peered at the laptop. "You think there's porn on this?"

Xander leered. "If we're lucky."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander and Angel remember what they're lost.

Sometimes, Angel painted works of his own.

He seemed a little embarrassed about it, but, as far as Xander could tell, they were good.

They were mostly portraits—people he didn't quite not recognize—but in his perusal of the Angel gallery—a section of the hall where the canvasses were propped against the wall to dry—he noticed something new.

It was a painting of Buffy, Willow and Giles, laughing in a cemetery. Willow was sitting on a headstone and Giles leaned against a tree while Buffy twirled a stake.

It was like a snapshot from his memory.

Stunned, he stared at the painting, at Willow's goofy grin, Giles's laughing eyes and Buffy's brilliant smile. Angel had captured them well, from the lines around Giles's eyes to the little bump on the end of Buffy's nose.

 

It was like being drenched in cold water, then wrapped in a warm, fluffy towel.

 

He started the frame the next day, while Angel was at class.

He cut the four sides from oak, then began to carve a pattern that closely resembled M'Fashnik scales: squarish, with a triangular notch along the bottom and a beveled edge.

He worked for hours—stopping occasionally to blink and blink and blink, anything to stop the sandpapery scratch that made him want to claw his remaining eye out—etching scale after scale into the wood.

When he was finished, he put the pieces together.

And fixed the frame to the canvas.

 

He'd just finished hanging it between the Gesundheit and a painting of a boy on a bicycle when Angel walked in the door.

"Hey, that's…" Angel looked closer, running a finger along the frame. "That's nice."

"Thanks."

Angel glanced back at Xander, brow furrowed slightly. "M'Fashnik?"

"Yeah. I, uh, thought it'd look kinda cool."

Angel traced the carved scales again. "It really does."

Xander nodded, then turned to deposit his hammer in the toolbox. "It's ok, that I…?" He gestured to the painting.

"Oh, yeah. They…needed to be here."

"Yeah."

Angel turned away from the wall. "Would you mind…making another?"

Xander blinked at the speculative look on Angel's face. "Sure. I mean, you want the same pattern, or…?"

"Have you ever seen a Morah?"

Xander squinted, scratching at the back of his neck while he thought. "Uh, big, green, and ugly with a ruby-red third eye?"

"That's it."

"Yeah. I can do that."

"Great. Hey, I'm going on a taco run—you want anything?"

"Yeah." Xander dug his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a twenty. "Get me a number two and a number seven."

"Okay. I'll be back in a while."

Angel left and Xander turned to close his tool box, then stretched out on the sofa.

 

Buffy, Giles and Willow all smiled, forever frozen in acrylic.

 

  
_The ground rumbled as Willow chanted, the red of her hair bleaching to white, her pupils dilating._

Xander's attention was drawn away by a scream as Dawn rose above the ground and dissolved in a flash of green light.

Frantically, Willow tried to stop the spell, to reverse it, to take it back, but it was too late.

No one had anticipated how the portal would open.

And it was too late for Dawn.

 

The sky ripped open.

He stood, horrified, as demon and Slayer alike were pulled into the expanse.

One by one—Violet, Kennedy, Faith—they all slipped away.

Even Buffy fell prey to their plan, cursing and sobbing and screaming Dawn's name the whole way.

And then it was just Xander.

And Willow.

Their eyes met across the battlefield.

And slowly, Willow began to slide away.

He ran, arms outstretched.

The white faded from her hair and her eyes became green once more.

She reached for him. "Xander—

 

"Xander!"

He gasped as something grabbed his arm, his eyes popping open in alarm.

Angel was hovering above, peering at him through the darkness.

He'd fallen asleep on the sofa.

Blinking, he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp as he tried to calm himself.

"You alright?" Angel's voice was low and gravelly, as if he'd been asleep.

"Yeah. What time?"

"A little after one."

"Oh. Did I wake you?"

"Nah—bathroom. Bad dream?"

Xander nodded; it was only the worst dream of his life.

He wished it were only a dream.

 

"Hey, come on."

Angel was tugging on his arm; he let himself be pulled down the hallway and…

 

…into Angel's bedroom.

Angel released his arm and stumbled across the room and into the bed, wrestling with the sheets until they covered his body.

"You coming?" Angel called, propping himself on an elbow and pulling a corner of the sheet back.

Xander stared, not quite sure what Angel was asking.

Angel's gaze softened. "They're gone, Xander."

 

They were gone.

 

Really.

 

Swallowing, Xander picked his way through the discarded clothes and books, toeing off his shoes and socks and abandoning his jeans on the floor before sliding into the bed.

It was quiet.

And he still wasn't quite sure what he was doing there, and he could still hear Willow's voice, echoing in his head, and it was no good, he'd keep Angel awake, and he really ought to get up and go to IHOP and get some coffee and watch the drunks stumble in, but—

A strong, square hand caught him by the shoulder and rolled him over…right onto Angel's chest.

"Oh."

Angel was warm and smelled like sweat and…kinda like taco sauce.

"This is new."

"Yeah."

He sighed as Angel's arm curled around his back.

"Sleep."

Lips brushed against his forehead.

 

And he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander wakes up in Angel's bed.

Xander jumped as something landed on his back.

"Wha—?" He rolled away, quickly.

Mr. Hairball yowled, scrambling to get away, and Angel's chuckle filled the room.

"Huh?" Xander blinked. He was…in Angel's room, in Angel's bed, and nipples of Angel were standing stiffly in the cool bedroom air.

And he'd been attacked by a cat.

It really _was_ a conspiracy.

"Hey, come'ere." Angel's hand reached out towards him. "It's cold."

Once again, he was pulled onto Angel's chest, Angel's _naked_ chest, and his face was only inches away from the Angel nipples.

Xander Jr. was very pleased.

"Uh, Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"This is…different." Xander's eye closed as Angel's fingers slid through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck. When the hand tugged, Xander allowed himself to be pulled up…

…until his face was inches from Angel's.

"Yeah. It is." Angel's eyes were dark in the early morning dim.

Slowly, Xander was pulled closer, eye fixated on Angel's lips as they drew nearer.

"We're doing this." Angel's voice interrupted the silence.

"We are?" He paused, looking into Angel's brown eyes—"We are"—before closing the gap and pressing his lips against Angel's.

It was even better than the thing they hadn't done.

They kissed, softly, slowly, learning the feel of lips, hands, tongues and teeth. Xander's heart was thumping wildly in his chest; it was different, it was amazing, and it was…kinda wrong.

For a moment, he had a panic attack that he was being the world's crappiest friend, having a semi—quickly moving to fully—nude make-out session with Buffy's first love, while she was gone, lost to the world, but then he realized…

…the man he was kissing, the man whose hand had just slid into the back of Xander's boxers, wasn't Buffy's Angel.

He was Xander's Angel.

Xander's Angel who procrastinated on his homework and took cooking advice from a cat, who spent his free time watching Food Network and searching the internet for new recipes, who ate tacos by the half-dozen and immortalized those he'd lost in acrylic and canvas.

He wasn't Angel, the vampire with a soul, he was just…Angel.

_Xander's Angel_.

 

Smiling softly, he sighed as Angel's mouth moved from his lips, pressing small, soft kisses against his cheeks, his nose, his brow and his eyelids…

Eyelids, _plural_, which meant…

Gasping, Xander jerked away, hand flying up to cover his missing eye. Heart lodged in his throat, his only thought was escape, and he rolled away from Angel.

Angel's weight landed on his back before he made it to the edge of the bed.

He struggled wildly, pushing and shoving and kicking like a cornered animal, but Angel's grasp was firm, his arms wrapped around Xander's torso, his legs around Xander's hips.

He'd thought, once upon a time, that since Angel was no longer a vampire, they'd be more equal in strength.

He hadn't counted on Angel becoming an octopus.

One by one, his limbs were captured, held tightly in Angel's grip.

Slumping against the mattress, he stopped struggling, panting heavily.

"Xander." Angel's voice was soft in his ear.

He turned his head away, desperate to free his arms and cover up his deformity.

"Xander, it's ok."

Defeated, Xander closed his eye, passively allowing Angel to flip him onto his back, only moving to keep his empty socket out of sight.

"Xander, look at me."

Scrunching his eye closed, Xander shook his head.

Angel's laugh was deep, his breath warm against Xander's cheek. Lips came to rest against his forehead, trailing down to press against his good eyelid as a hand slid against his jaw, tilting his head to face Angel.

He shuddered as a soft, but firm, kiss was planted against his damaged eye.

"Xander."

Xander opened his eye…

…and lunged.

He collided with Angel's chest and flipped them over, barely catching himself before their heads bumped. Angel's mouth opened to Xander's kiss, warm and wet, his tongue slick and agile as it slipped into Xander's mouth.

A deep moan echoed through the morning stillness; surprised, Xander recognized it as his own voice.

Angel's hands were everywhere, caressing and gripping and scratching at Xander's back, slipping to the waistband of his boxers and slipping them down…down…and off, to land at the end of the bed with the array of clothes he'd shed the night before.

He was kissing _Angel_.

He was kissing Angel, while _naked_.

He was kissing a _semi-clothed_ Angel, while naked.

It needed to be fixed, immediately, so he pulled at Angel's sleep pants, grunting in frustration when his own weight kept them from being pulled off.

Grinning into the kiss, Angel bucked, inverting their positions again and slipping out of his pants before falling onto Xander.

Xander groaned loudly: Skin—skin of Angel—was everywhere. Smooth and hot and just a little damp with sweat, sliding perfectly against his chest, his thighs; Angel's prick, heavy and full, slipping next to his, rubbing insistently against his abdomen, catching and tugging on the hairs around his groin…

What the hell had taken them so long?

He mouthed along Angel's neck, teeth scraping against the veins that pulsed heavily beneath his lips, tongue darting out to capture the salty taste of sweat and Angel.

Angel grunted in time with his thrusts, which grew more and more frantic as the moments passed, his hands sliding from Xander's chest to his shoulders, down his back to cup his ass, pulling Xander's lower half towards his thrusting groin.

Falling back against the mattress, Xander wrapped his legs around Angel's back, reaching up to clutch at the headboard as Angel pressed them tighter together, sweatyslippery precome easing the friction between their bodies, Angel's breath hot and harsh against his neck.

Lights flashed behind his eyelid and his legs trembled as he bucked involuntarily into Angel, wailing as his groin began to tingle.

He screamed as pain blossomed in his shoulder where Angel's teeth had sunk into the muscle. Spasming roughly, he came against Angel's stomach.

Exhausted, he slumped, boneless and spent.

Angel collapsed on his chest.

"Well," Xander gasped out, between pants, "that was…"

Angel groaned. "Yeah."

Pushing Angel off his chest, Xander grimaced at the mess on his torso, grabbing the edge of the sheet and wiping it off.

"Why didn't we do that sooner?"

Angel sighed—"We're both stupid and…really, really stubborn?"—then pulled his body upright and off the bed. Scratching at the drying ejaculate on his stomach, he went into the bathroom.

"Oh. Yeah." Xander blinked into the morning light that filtered through the blinds.

"Hey."

He glanced up just as Angel—full-frontal Angel—stretched, showing his assets off, unashamedly.

Amazingly, Xander Jr. was ready for round two.

Grinning, Angel pounced on the bed, stealing a kiss before pulling away, brow furrowed. "I'm hungry," he announced, bouncing off the bed and slipping into a pair of pants he pulled from the mess on the floor. "I'm in the mood for eggs." Turning, he glanced back at Xander, who was still sprawled out on the bed. "Do you like eggs?"

Mouth agape, Xander managed to nod.

"Of course you like eggs. I know that." Shaking his head, he grinned. "I'm going to go make eggs."

Xander watched as Angel left the room, then fell back to the mattress with a groan.

It was just his luck; Angel was a morning person.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

Angel was at the table, half-way finished with his breakfast, when Xander stumbled into the room, yawning.

"It's about time you got up—your eggs are getting cold."

"You—" Xander paused to yawn, again "—are completely insane." He slid into his seat, blinking slowly.

A mug was moved into his line of vision and he took it, sipping the hot coffee carefully.

When he was awake enough to keep from skewering himself with his fork, he began stuffing cold eggs into his mouth.

"Don't forget to breathe."

"Shuttup, you…awake person."

Angel chuckled, gathering his dirty dishes and moving them to the sink. "Are you always this grumpy after morning sex?"

Xander's eye widened as his fork clattered against his plate. Morning sex? With _Angel_? Angel morning sex??

He glanced up at Angel, who was wearing a concerned look. And pants. Just pants.

He had sex. With Angel.

With the nakedness and the penises—how exactly _did_ one indicate the plural of penis?—and the nakedness…

"We had sex, didn't we?"

"Yeah." Angel crossed the room, stopping next to his chair and propping one hip against the table. He reached out, fingers lightly tracing the curve of Xander's chin. "You okay with that?"

Xander's eye closed in pleasure.

"I… Yeah, I think maybe so."

Smiling gently, Angel leaned down and pressed a kiss to Xander's mouth, their lips clinging together for a moment before he pulled away.

"Hurry up and finish eating. I think we have a movie to watch."

Xander watched as Angel left the kitchen, sleep pants pulling tight against his ass as he walked.

Yeah. It was more than okay.

Grinning, he shoveled down the rest of the eggs and went to join Angel.

 

He slid the DVD into the player and made his way to the couch. Hesitating a moment, he sat next to Angel, not touching, but close enough to feel Angel's body heat against his side.

The movie began to play.

They were silent, mostly; Xander said nothing when Angel's arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him against a firm chest.

Slowly, he began to relax in Angel's embrace.

"Ugh. Hobbit feet—not the most attractive thing in the world."

"They are kinda…weird looking."

"Yeah." Angel's hand was warm against his side. He sighed, eyes fixed on the screen.

When the DVD player prompted him to switch disks, he slid from Angel's arms and crossed the room to start part two.

He turned back to the sofa and stopped, staring: Angel was asleep, head lolled back against the sofa cushions, mouth slightly open. He looked utterly human, bearing little resemblance to the vampire Xander had hated all those years ago.

Smiling gently, Xander resumed his seat, curling himself against Angel's chest.

 

The thing with Angel was stranger than—well, something really strange—but, somehow, he thought things might turn out alright.

 

With a soft meow, Mr. Hairball jumped into Angel's lap, settling himself in the crease between their thighs. Angel grunted, shifting slightly and curling his arm around Xander's waist before falling still again.

Mr. Hairball glanced up at Xander, tail flicking in impatience.

Grinning, Xander pressed Play.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later...

_Six months later..._

 

Xander squinted in the afternoon light, surveying the crowds that milled between exhibits.

"I didn't expect this many people."

Turning, Xander looked at his lover. "Yeah. Overwhelming, much?"

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and the tension that had been building since they'd set up their booth that morning bled away.

After he'd carved his first frame for Angel's painting of Buffy, Willow and Giles, they'd begun to collaborate—Angel's paintings and Xander's woodworking—and had made quite a few sales. The style of his frames had become very diverse, from simple patterns to great, twisting, freeform sculptures that wrapped around Angel's paintings like crawling vines. They were a great hit with the locals.

Their joint efforts had landed them a spot in one of Austin's most loved art havens, a place where Xander's eyepatch made him eccentric, not disfigured.

It was crowded, but the people were friendly.

He smiled as one such friendly person approached. It was a girl, fifteen or sixteen, with curly brown hair and big hazel eyes.

"Hi, can I help you?"

"Yeah—" she held a painting out to him, gesturing to the frame "—I wonder if you could tell me what this pattern is?"

He glanced at the frame; it was M'Fashnik—one of their best sellers in traditionally-shaped frames. "Uh…they're crocodile scales."

"Huh." The girl frowned, her brows twisting together in confusion. "That doesn't seem right."

Xander gulped, but relaxed as Angel moved to press against his back.

"Yeah. They're crocodile scales—different from alligators, you know," Angel said, nodding at the girl convincingly.

"Hmm. This pattern seems so familiar…" She trailed off, looking into the distance as if searching for a memory. "It's almost as if I dreamed about it." She glanced at the painting again. "Guess I dreamed about crocodiles and didn't even know it." She smiled, crinkling her nose. "Creepy, huh?"

Xander blinked as the girl wandered off. "Definitely creepy."

He glanced back at Angel.

"Well, they do look a lot like reptile scales."

"Yeah." Reaching out, he trailed his fingers along the grooves.

"Excuse me a minute," he said over his shoulder as he slipped into the crowd and headed for the men's room.

He spent several minutes splashing his face with water from the sink before looking up into the mirror.

His reflection stared back out of one lone brown eye.

Even his normal life was bizarre.

Shaking his head, he left the bathroom to return to his and Angel's exhibit, stopping across the aisle to watch Angel make a sale, smiling and shaking the hand of a man in a plaid sport jacket.

He never did figure out why they'd stuck together after meeting at the former Hellmouth, or why he'd gone with Angel to Texas. He supposed it was something familiar, one person in the world who remembered who you were and the way the world used to be…

…but then again…

 

"Hey, you ready to go? I'm starving." Angel's stomach rumbled to corroborate his words.

"Yeah, sure. Let's pack up." Together they began putting away their pieces, packing them carefully for transport.

"How about Mexican? I want a burrito."

"Or four?"

"Or four."

Angel's grin was infectious; he leaned forward to kiss it away.

Angel made to pull away, then dove in for one more brush of lips against lips.

"Hungry, now."

Angel turned for the truck, glancing around the boxes in his arms to see ahead.

Xander followed, smiling.

 

…maybe it was because this was where he was supposed to be.

 

 

_Fin._

 

Originially archived [here](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/201242.html).


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